Chalice of Blood Read Online Free

blacksmith, Abbot Iarnla was waiting impatiently.
    ‘Break it open,’ he ordered.
    Brother Giolla-na-Naomh was a tall, muscular man, as befitted his calling. His strength and willingness to do hard physical work had earned him his name ‘Servant of the Saints’ soon after he had arrived at the abbey and his original name had long been forgotten. The blacksmith examined the door critically for a moment. Then, waving the others to stand aside, he turned his back to the door, balanced on his left foot and with his right foot gave the lock a powerful back kick. There was a splintering of wood around the metal lock and the door crashed inwards. The lock hung for a moment from the jamb before it slowly fell with a clatter to the floor.
    ‘You may go,’ Abbot Iarnla told the blacksmith, before proceeding across the threshold. ‘Brother Donnchad, I warned you—’
    The abbot’s voice stopped abruptly.
    Brother Lugna peered into the room over his shoulder.
    They could see inside clearly, for a window lit the cubiculum . Below it was the wooden cot and on it was stretched the occupant of the room, lying as if asleep, quiet and still.
    Brother Lugna squeezed past the frozen figure of the abbot and moved to the bed. He bent down and touched the features of the man who lay there, withdrawing his hand quickly as if he had been scalded. He looked at the abbot.
    ‘Brother Donnchad is dead,’ he said flatly.
    ‘ Attende Domine, et miserere …’ The abbot began to softly intone the injunction for God’s mercy.
    To the abbot’s surprise, Brother Lugna turned the body over on to its side so that the back was towards him. He stared at it for a moment and finally let it fall back into its original position.

    The abbot paused in his prayer. ‘What are you looking for, Brother Lugna? Do you think he took his own life?’
    The steward stood upright and turned to the abbot. His face was paler than usual and he wore a troubled expression.
    ‘Took his own life? Not unless he was able to stab himself twice in the back before he climbed on to the bed and lay down,’ he rejoined drily.
    The abbot’s ruddy face blanched and he performed the sign of the Cross.
    ‘ Lux perpetua lucent eis. Qui erant in poenis tenebrarum …’ he began to mutter. ‘Let perpetual light shine unto them which were in the pain of darkness.’

CHAPTER TWO
     
     
    ‘ A re you telling me that you are rejecting the Faith, Fidelma?’ Ségdae, Abbot of Imleach, demanded in a scandalised voice.
    Fidelma stood before the abbot in the private chamber that was always set aside for his visits to the palace of Cashel. By virtue of his ecclesiastical role as Chief Bishop of Muman, Ségdae was always treated with the greatest respect when he came to see his King.
    ‘I am not rejecting the Faith, only the life of a religieuse,’ Fidelma replied patiently.
    Abbot Ségdae examined her with suspicion. ‘This is not good. I know that you have had concerns over the years …’
    Fidelma raised a hand and Abbot Ségdae paused to allow her to speak.
    ‘When I attended the school of the Brehon Morann and qualified in the study of law, which was my passion, my brother was not then King of Muman, and I needed the means of supporting myself before I could make a reputation as an advocate, a dálaigh of the courts. My cousin, Abbot Laisran of Darú, suggested I join the house of Brigid at Cill Dara, because they needed someone with legal ability. It is some years ago since I shook the dust of that place from my sandals for reasons that I think you know well.’

    Abbot Ségdae shrugged. ‘One bad apple does not mean that the entire crop is ruined,’ he commented.
    A smile crossed Fidelma’s features but there was little humour in it.
    ‘It seems that there are many bad apples in this world. During the seven or so years that I have practised the legal arts, I have come across more than I care to enumerate – even in the palace of the Holy Father in Rome. Anyway, since